Chapter One: -April-

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'Do you still believe in love?' he asked me.

Somehow, I weren't too sure what to answer him with.

After so many years, so many battles, and after so much loss, I don't know what to answer him.

That question brought back so, so many beautiful memories, and so, so many other evenly-painful ones as well, it hurt too much to bear. Sometimes, the pain is so great, I can no longer keep my body from shivering, trembling, sending a cool sensation through my entire being, but the hardest part was to hold in the tears, for no matter how hard I try, how stubborn I try to be, they break my willpower with utmost ease and flow down my face, warm and salty, full with the sweet and painful dreams of the past.

Like ripples on the surface of water, the emotions just keep growing bigger, spreading wider, multiplying, and when they reach their limit, they begin to fade, to merge with the surface and disappear.

I swallowed, and I let myself go.

God! After so many years, I felt that there is just no point in keeping those feelings bottled in anymore; they just pain me too much. I knew he is hurting the most, and I understand his loss, I understand it better than anyone else, for I have been the only connection, the one living proof they existed at all, the only connection that there is still a chance for him to survive.

"Donny, lets go home." I sooth, now my arms wrapped around his half-metallic, half-flesh arm, his cyborg-like body would have fascinated me, if only I were in a better mood.

Gently, I tried to pull him up to his feet, cursing Bishop over and over to what he had done to him and his body.

Breaking into a sobbing heap, he's too torn to move, and collapsed onto my lap, pulling me down with his massive weight. Hugging me tightly, his silvery, metallic arm latching to my side, his three digits, resembling his lost fingers in shape and thickness, except that they were sharper at the tips, his sharp claws were digging into my flesh, drawing the faintest little lines of blood, but I dare not show any pain, I let him pour out his agony into my ears, his body shakes and jerks with his howls, he hiccups, mourning over the loss of his family, and all I can do is comport him.

I wrap my arms around him protectively, allowing him to cry onto my body, to bury his face in my lap, listening to his gasps and sobs, and I ignore the shivering and his sagging shoulders, and ignore the pain searing through my cuts.

It had been long on this change, too long, and nothing will make things any different.

It had been thirty five years, and we had just started taking prospering after the defeat of Shredder.

Now standing, or more like sitting, at the memorial grave, I gazed up tiredly at Raphael's statue, begging my lost friend for the tiniest bit of comfort, for support, for I have always found my strength in Raph's presence, no matter how irritated or angry he was; but his statue is dead silent, and as still as the marble stone it is made of, just like Mikey's and Leo's by his sides.

Their statues in the graveyard, where master Splinter had asked to be buried, we have created a memorial spot for them here.

It had been five years after the disappearance of younger Donatello.

Their stoned figures, their expressions had not changed, their strong, brave, stubborn and determined glares, as the heads of the statues look up towards the east, their facial expressions fixing the truth deeper into my mind as they gaze up into the sky, their bodies paralyzed by the skilled hands of time, they that will not change, even after their death.

Raph's stubborn stare, Leo's humble smile and Mikey's indifferent scowl.

Donny's cries died down, and his metallic leg makes a slight screeching sound, as it rubs the rocks below us where we sat on the old, dirt-covered field; no longer coherent to his behavior, he curls into my lap, begging, pleading for the return of his family.

After thirty years of imprisonment under Bishop's hands, after so much pain and turmoil, escaping his prison, he returns only to see his three brothers and father dead. He grieves loudly, sobbing and crying, begging me to tell him it's all a dream, a very bad dream, a wicked nightmare! Pleading me to tell him that none of this is real, that it will all go away, but I say nothing, I just hold him tight, and my tears speak for me, dripping from my chin, only to land on his face, trickling down his brownish, olive green skin.

He stops once he recognized the smell of blood, and the red-dye staining my shirt.

He quickly releases me and bolts up, he stumbles back, fumbling and trying to apologize, though the tears never seize, they keep flowing down our faces. He starts cursing himself and his current body, cursing Bishop for his doing, and I say nothing.

It had been long, way too long, and I can no longer find the heart to say anything.

They were my brothers, too; I grieved their loss over and over, but I could never grow to accept it, or get over it.

Never…

Somehow, I am baffled and overjoyed by his return, and still, part of me is hurting and still grieving, for he might have come back into my life, yet he is no longer the turtle I once knew. Not anymore, not after thirty years of torture under Bishop's hands. Not after years of dissection and having half his body transformed into a robotic beast!

That is a life he lived and survived thus far, a life no one could comprehend, a life I could never understand, a past I will probably never learn and acknowledge, for he will probably want to forget it.

So do I, I wish to forget all the pain as well.

But not them, my family, I wish to forget everything but them.

"Donatello." I cooed as I stood up and walked towards his shaking body, and he panicked, taking a step back.

With a furrow, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my sides and the reek of blood creeping into my throat, I smiled.

He sniffles, the rattling of his metallic limbs is quite clear to my ears.

With a soft sigh, my hands land on his shoulders, and I cup them tightly, "Let us go home."

He composes his ragged breath, and his mismatched eyes stare at me, one in teary chocolate brown, and the other in emerald, robotic-green, "Home?" he scoffed, sarcastically and not very pleased, "What home? The Foot trashed the lair, remember?"

I smiled, just a bit, "Let us go home." I echoed, now gently tugging at his arms, I pulled him, gesturing for him to follow me.

With a screeching hiss, his robotic leg hissed as the cylinder released pressure.

I think he might have punctured or dented the cylinder when he rolled his knee over the rocks, seeing his metallic limbs are quiet delicate, the dents and loose screws need to be tightened back on as well, I see.

Reluctantly, he agreed, allowing me to guide him away.

With a smile, I promised myself that I will live for him.

I will make him happy, I swear.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: I edited the chapter, nothing much, just added some details and fixed some spelling mistakes.